The Death of Dax
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: AU As usual, I'm not happy with the way the writers at Paramount did something, so this is MY version of Jadzia's death and Ezri's introduction. JJa JE slight JaW


Disclaimer: ST: DS9 is not mine, it's Paramont's 

Disclaimer: ST: DS9 is not mine, it's Paramont's. I just don't agree with how they killed Jadzia Dax or how they introduced Ezri Dax. I also changed Ezri's personality completely, because I don't agree with that either. Here's MY version, which is pretty much completely different from the real one.

The Death of Dax (A Second Chance)

"Jadzia… no… come back… ", Julian Bashir moaned, still asleep. It had been one whole month, exactly, since Jadzia's death, yet it still haunted the doctor's dreams. "No… Jadzia… my Jadzia…NO!" He awoke, panting. Tears glazed his clear blue eyes, yet none fell.

He could still remember how it happened, how she looked, what she said in her last hours of life. In the silent darkness, he could still see her…

"Dr. Bashir!" some one called

Bashir rushed out into the corridor just outside his sickbay.

At first, he saw no one. "'Ello?" he called. His accent was thick with tiredness. His wrist chrono read 2: 21 hours. He rubbed his eyes and tried again. "Is anyone out here?"

Silence. Then, around the corridor junction, about fifty feet away, came Worf. Jadzia was unconscious in his arms. "Dr. Bashir, help!" Worf panted. He covered the distance to sickbay in less than a second, but the doctor didn't need him to come that close to see that Jadzia was in a coma.

"Worf, what happened?" Bashir asked the panicked Klingon.

"She collapsed," explained Worf. "The flu she had- I don't think it was a flu."

Dr. Bashir wondered for a split second what that could mean. He had examined her himself just yesterday!

"Well, let's get her inside."

Julian of the present rubbed his eyes, trying to force the memories back, just as he had been trying for thirty-one days exactly. And, as had been his reward for thirty-one days exactly, all he succeeded in doing was forcing the memories into his conscious even more…

Julian Bashir didn't understand it. The bio-bed Jadzia Dax lay on showed a perfectly normal reading for a trill of her age, perfectly healthy despite a touch of terran influenza, which had been going around the station. A nasty little bug, one of the only 'simple' diseases still around, that kept you off-duty for a few days. It did NOT cause its victims to go into a coma. And yet, here was Jadzia Dax, lying paralyzed before his eyes.

He started pacing around the bio-bed. It was too quiet. Worf had left a few hours ago. Jadzia's vitals were stabilized, and there was nothing the Klingon could do, so Julian had told him to go get some sleep. He had begrudgingly obeyed. And now for some reason, Bashir found himself wishing he hadn't. God save him, he hated Worf with every fiber of his existence, but the silence he normally didn't mind, even occasionally preferred, was driving him mad!

In his despair, Julian found himself giving the computer a command that had been given way too much in the last five hours. "Computer, check vitals and symptoms of patient J. Dax. Cross-reference these with the symptoms of all code 15 diseases. State results."

"Cross-reference complete," said the computer in mechanical tones. "One disease matches symptoms. Terran influenza."

Julian sighed. Ask the same person (or machine) the same question and chances are, you'll get the same answer.

Then it dawned on him. Code 15 meant only diseases that applied to all the members of the federation. How could he have been so narrow-minded! "Computer!" he half shouted. "Same symptoms! Cross reference with all known trill diseases."

The split second it took the computer to respond was the longest split second in all of Julian Bashir's thirty- three years. "Cross reference complete. One disease matches symptoms. Qualopatimia. Symptoms: fever, congestion, nausea, vomiting, coma. Races effected: Trill, Andorian, Klingon. Status: moderate to terminal. Cases in last five years in this sector: none. Cases in last ten years…"

Julian silenced the computer. At least he knew what he was up against. So he would tell the Andorians and Klingons on DS9 to have themselves checked out. Uh-oh, he thought suddenly. Worf. He'd have to check him over and make him wear a breath filter when visiting. Right now, though, he was much more concerned with Dax.

It certainly made more sense then the flu. As his adrenaline surge depleted, though, he realized one thing. 'Status: moderate to terminal'.

_It_'s _fine,_ Julian assured himself, _Jadzia's a strong, healthy trill. I'll just get the cure from the computer, treat her, and she'll be better in no time. _

But the computer didn't always have a miracle cure. That, the young doctor knew, and knew quite well. Too many times had he had to say Time of death… (Or whatever 24th century people say), too many times had he had to pull a blanket over the head of a good person, who he was incompetent to save. That is why his voice trembled slightly as he asked, "Computer, what is the cure for said disease?"

He held his breath. "No cure is known at this time. Seventy-eight percent of patients recover with no medical assistance within twenty-four hours of coma induction."

His breath came out in a whoosh. That's what he had been afraid of. 78 recover, eh? Where did that leave the other 22? Dead.

Dr. Bashir hated that word. From the bottom of his heart, even more than Worf, he hated that word.

So there was no cure. Jadzia had a 78 out of 100 chance at living. Good, but not good enough. And there was nothing he could do. Sure, he could look for a cure, but to whip up a miracle in the nineteen hours he had left was cutting it close. Even god needed six days to create the world. As much as he hated to admit it, genetically enhanced though he may be, Julian Bashir was no more them mortal. And he hated THAT more than Worf AND death combined.

But he had tried, damn it! He tried as hard as he could. He worked to the best of his abilities. Done the best possible. Lying in his bed, he cursed himself for not being able to do the impossible…

Dr. Bashir sprinted into sick bay as fast as his legs could carry him. When he got to the curtain shielding his friend from the rest of the world though, he slowed.

Jadzia was lying there, not moved from the last position Julian had seen her in. Worf was at her side, holding her hand in his larger, gloved one.

As much as he hated him, Julian felt sorry for Worf. He had been sitting there, almost as motionless as Jadzia herself, watching the chrono tick down to the hour by which Jadzia would awake…or die.

The Klingon greeted the doctor with a worried, "She's not in any pain, is she?" His voice was muffled from the filter.

"No." Bashir hated the tremble in his voice. He actually didn't know if she was or wasn't. But what was he supposed to say? 'Your wife may feel nothing but, on the other hand, she may be just be unable to show it and she's really in terrible agony? No, he didn't think so.

Noticing the hypo in the doctor's hand, Worf asked, "What's that for?"

Bashir didn't want to get Worf's – or his – hopes up, so he didn't say that it might be a cure. He said simply, "It might wake her up for a while." He took her hand away from Worf. He was astonished at how cold it was. Injecting the hypo, Julian said, "Look, Worf, this might take a little while to work. Why don't you get something to eat or get a little sleep? You've been here," he glanced at his chrono, "Almost fifteen hours." _This, _he reminded himself mentally_, meant that Jadzia had four hours to wake up. _"You have your Comm badge on. I'll page you if… no… as soon as she wakes up."

Bashir had been furious at himself for faltering so. The truth was, what he had found wasn't a cure. It was simply a mental stimulant to help her out of her coma. He was still depending on the 78/22 odds to save her life. Julian of now got up and strechted. He already had her face haunting his waking hours. He didn't want to give his dreams a chance at it…

"Julian… that you?" the tiny voice from the other side of sickbay woke Bashir from the light doze he had fallen into at his desk.

"What?" he said. Then, realizing Jadzia was awake, he stumbled out of his desk chair and tripped to the bio-bed in less than one second. "Jadzia? Are you awake? How do you feel?"

She struggled to get up, but Bashir pushed her down again. "What… h-happened?"

"You went into a coma. You seem to have developed Qualopatimia." Her face paled to as chalk-white as Bashir was sure his was. She obviously knew what it meant.

"W-where's W-worf?"

Julian felt a surge of anger deep within him, but he pressed his Comm badge into his chest and said, "Sickbay to Worf. Worf, she's awake."

Worf didn't even take time to respond. Bashir heard him shout something about emergency transport and the next moment, Worf appeared glittering before their eyes.

"Jadzia?"

"Hi…" much to Julian's protest, she sat up.

"C'Mon, Jadzia, don't strain yourself. You're sick."

But Dax didn't hear him. She was talking happily and grinning. No one would be able to tell she had been in a coma a few minutes ago. She said something softly that Bashir couldn't hear and Worf kissed her. Julian felt a lump in his throat and he looked away. He found his gaze on the bio-bed dials. She looked pretty good. Still she needed rest. "Worf, you should go. Jadzia needs her rest."

Worf looked up. "Will she be okay now?"

Bashir shifted uneasily. Nothing was absolute when it came to medicine. "Well, there's no positively, but let's put it this way: she's more likely to recover than if the stimulant hadn't worked."

Worf obviously didn't notice he'd said 'stimulant' instead of 'cure'. He kissed Dax again, said, "I'll be back in the morning" and left. There was much more bounce to his step than Bashir had ever seen, especially in the past day.

He looked back at Jadzia, whose smile was slightly dimmer. "You know," he joked, trying to lighten the mood, "I didn't say that just to make Worf leave; you do need your strength. Why don't you take a little nap?"  
"Mmmm-kay," she muttered sleepily, snuggling back under the sickbay covers. She suddenly looked very tired. Instinctively, he looked to the dials again. Her blood pressure and heart rate were down substantially.

"What the…!" Bashir exclaimed. THAT wasn't right. Her blood ox descended in a sudden drop, then steadied. Jadzia sat bolt up, gasping.

"J-julian… wh-what h-hap'ning?"

"Sshhhhhhhhhh… deep breaths, Jadzia…" Bashir tried to calm Jadzia, but he could hear his own heart pounding in blind panic. Suddenly Dax fell back and moaned. Then her chest stopped moving. "Jadzia…NO!"

He straddled her chest and frantically began old-fashioned artificial respiration.

"Jadzia Dax, don't you do this to me!" Above their heads, the readings showing her heart rate moved down to almost non-existence.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Julian… I don't wanna die… help me… please… love you…no…" Her heart stopped completely.

The sound wretched his heart. "Jadzia! NO!" His voice faltered. "Please, God, no…

That's how it happened. He'd called it a few seconds later. For every 78 people to survive, 22 had to die. He still wondered what she had meant by 'love you'. She had probably been delirious, thought she was talking to Worf. And still… he could hope, couldn't he? Julian shook his head. He missed his chance while she was alive. Now that she was dead… what kind of a pervert was he? He sighed and looked at his chrono. 4:01 am, 'civilian time'. Since tomorrow was his day 'off', he wasn't on until 1:00 that afternoon, meaning he had almost nine hours to kill. He wandered over to his closet and tossed on some of the rec. cloths that he wore while not on duty. He sighed again, wondering what to do now.

His eyes wandered around the room and fell on a tiny cross his parents had given him on his fifteenth birthday. He always wondered why they were such religious freaks. If they believed in god so damn much, why did they change him? Mutate him, for gosh sakes! He certainly wasn't the way god made man in the first place. And even being enhanced, he still couldn't save Jadzia. How many plagues had he stopped? How many diseases had he cured? He'd lost count. It figures- the time that it really mattered was the time he had failed. What did that make him? A failure?

He pushed the thought from his head. The little golden cross had reminded him of something else- he had missed Jadzia's funeral. He didn't really want to go. He'd have to face everyone and he just didn't think he could. Especially not Worf. He could still remember when he told him…

"She WHAT?"

"Worf, I'm sorry…"

"You said she'd be okay!"

"I SAID she had a bett…"

"I don't care! You killed her!"

Julian rushed out of the room, just missing a chair that was probably meant to take his head off. The one thing he hated most about losing a patient was telling the ones the patient left behind.

Tears burned his eyes for the first time since his parents visit. The look on everyone's faces when they found out about his enhancement was enough to make him cry himself to sleep for nights. They had looked not mad but- surprised? Startled? Appalled?

And now- he was even more mad at himself now- if that was possible. Julian sniffled as he thought about what Worf had said. Was it true? Had he killed Jadzia?

No, of course not! He- he loved her! But for every disease, there had to be a cure, right? Was he a murder because he did not find it?

No, the reasonable side of him argued. _Not every disease has a cure and you know it, Julian!_

, the reasonable side of him argued. 

Still, had he killed Jadzia?…

Bashir rubbed his eyes. He had decided what he was going to do. He stepped of his room and headed for the station's tiny chapel. It would probably be deserted at this time of the night. His own private funeral for Jadzia. It was time for him to move on, as much as he didn't want to.

Once at the chapel, he hesitantly looked around for anyone else. It seemed- as he thought it would be- completely empty.

The interior of the room was a strange, eclectic sight. Since it was used for all species, and since most species had at least a dozen specific religions, the walls were covered with so many statues and holo-images that they all rather bled together as one big collage. Bashir sat down slowly on one of the pews. He closed his eyes apprehensively. As a boy, his parents took him to church almost every Sunday. They always made him close his eyes during prayer. Perhaps they thought they would all receive some sort of message, enlightenment. Bashir had never had such and epiphany. He doubted he ever truly would. Heck, he couldn't even tell when he was in love. He had truly loved some of his classmates in highschool and at the academy, but they never returned his affection. When Melora did, he was ready to spend the rest of her life with her. When she left him, he went back to lusting in vain over Dax. Of course, nothing ever came of it. In the back of his mind, or in the corner of his heart, he had always hoped that she and Worf would break up, divorce. That he might have a second chance and this time, not screw up.

Julian was startled to find he was crying. He opened his eyes and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hands. He was glad he was alone. He was never really one to cry in public.

That's when he realized he wasn't. Alone, that is. There was a girl, maybe three to five years his junior sitting on one of the cushions at the front of the room. Her eyes were closed and it was obvious she was in some kind of trance. Julian's heart skipped a beat as he saw the familiar markings around her hairline.

Bashir stood and quickly turned to leave, just as the girl's eyes flew open. "I'm sorry, did I disturb you?" he said.

"No, not at all." She sounded familiar, too. Gosh, what a sight he must look. His cloths, as he had just noticed, were on backwards. His hair was ruffled. His eyes were red and he was certain there were tears tracks down his cheeks. Embarrassed, he turned to go. The girl's voice stopped him. "What's wrong?"

Julian turned again. "Nothing."

He was greeted by the raising of an eyebrow that he had come to know all too well. Suddenly, something clicked. Of, course, at the funeral! The Dax entity would have been taken out and placed in a new host! How could he have been so naïve as to have not noticed! He glanced back at the girl, not realizing he had looked away in the first place. "Dax?" he whispered.

The girl smiled. "Yes, Julian, I am Dax."

She smiled even broader in his amazement. Then, his face fell again. Half, if not more, of the woman he lived was not Dax. It was the _mortal_ Jadzia.

The girl's grin softened and she spoke softly. "No, you're right. I am not Jadzia Dax." Julian was even more convinced that trills were mind readers now. The girl spoke again. "My name is Ezri Dax. I was … just assigned here a few days ago."

Julian smiled, feeling happier than he had in a month. "I'm Julian Bashir. But you already knew that"

She nodded and he smiled, suddenly struck with an idea. "Say, would you like to go get a drink? Or breakfast or something? That is- if you're not busy. It looked like you were doing a sort of ritual or something."

"No. I'm done for tonight, but- breakfast? At o-five-hundred hours?"

"Oh," said Julian absentmindedly, "It's five o'clock already?" She nodded. "Oh. Well, when you're posted on DS9, you get used to some pretty strange hours."

"Oh. Okay then, let's go." She crossed the room and they marched out the door.

Julian felt like he was walking on air. Maybe he couldn't tell if he was in love, but, if he could, he was certain he was in love right now. She was right; she wasn't Jadzia. But maybe that was good. Maybe it meant he had a better chance. Or, better, a second chance.


End file.
